


The Kids Don't Care (If You're All Right, Honey) or, Five Fights

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Regan tries to patch things up, they just get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kids Don't Care (If You're All Right, Honey) or, Five Fights

1.

“I’ve made the Quidditch team!”

Spica looks up from her porridge and blinks at Regan as if she doesn’t recognize her. “Oh yeah?”

“Gave me a uniform and everything.” She slaps the padded uniform, barely feeling it.

“You’re already talking like one of them,” Lupin observes from her perennial seat at Spica’s elbow. She gives Regan a little smile that makes her scars crease. “Best watch that. Jamie’s been insufferable ever since she made the team.”

“Yeah, where is she this morning, anyway?” Spica demands.

“Bet you a quid she’s stalking Lyle,” Lupin sighs. When Regan and Spica both give her a baffled look, she amends, “Or a sickle. Sorry.”

“Actually,” Regan says, “I saw her down by the pitch with Pettigrew. I thought they might be spying on tryouts.” She’s not prone to suspicion, but with Potter, she’s generally right. She wishes her sister would choose better friends, blood aside.

“Oh,” Spica says loftily, “They are. I forgot. It’s not as though they need to, though. Your lot is terrible. That includes you, Ray.”

“Spica, _don’t_ \--” Lupin says, but it’s too late for her to smooth things over.

Regan hardly even appreciates the effort. “Well,” she says sharply, “If that’s how you feel about it. Or maybe you’re just angry because you didn’t make the team.”

Spica goes a bit white, her hands clutching the edge of the table. “Don’t expect me to come to your matches, _traitor_.”

Regan whirls on her heel and strides back to the Slytherin table as quickly as she can without looking like she’s running. Spica is meant to be supportive, not _awful_ , but she’s been this way ever since Regan got Sorted into Slytherin. Every time Regan tries to patch things up, they just get worse. She shoves her chair back angrily and takes a seat, stabbing at her porridge with a spoon.

“Not Spica _again?_ She’s just a flat-out bitch and nothing more.”

Regan turns to see Narcissus watching her with concern. “Oh,” she says, “Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. She’s just . . . Well, she’s being difficult, but she’ll get over it.”

“Bell didn’t,” Narcissus says darkly. “I think they’ll both be horrible till the day they die. Here, have some of my orange.”

Regan tries to smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

2.

“The only person more embarrassing than you, Cissy,” Bellarion hisses, “is Antares. And that’s because he’s a Muggle-loving piece of filth.”

Antares looks up from his book, frowning slightly. “Uncalled for.”

“It’s not as though you’re really going to have a fight about it,” Narcissus says from his perch on the back of the couch. “You don’t fight and Bell gets distracted too easily.”

“Well, you’re not going to bloody distract me from you,” Bellarion snaps. “The _Malfoys_ , Cissy. You’re not really going to do it.”

Narcissus crosses his arms in what he realizes is a defensive posture. Anyone would be defensive with Bellarion for a brother, though. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. And I _like_ her. I mean, completely regardless, she’s got a lot of money and status.”

Bellarion wheels to hover over Antares, who doesn’t even look up. “And what do you have to say about this?”

“It’s not a marriage proposal, anyway,” Antares says mildly, still looking at the page. “He’s asking her out, that’s all. I don’t think he should do it either, mind. Lucia’s a spoiled brat.”

“So’s Cissy,” Bellarion counters.

A flicker of a smile crosses Antares’ face. “Well. Yeah.”

Narcissus doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brothers get along before.

3.

“What’re you going to do when it happens?”

Regan looks up from the letter she’s writing. “Sorry? When what happens?”

Spica, wearing one of those plaid Muggle skirts she’s taken to, taps her foot impatiently in the doorway of Regan’s room. She’ll never come in anymore. “When all our parents die off and Bell takes over everything.”

Regan sighs and glances with annoyance at the ink she’s smeared by accident. Spica’s always making her do things like that. “What does it matter to you? It’s not as though you want anything to do with the family.”

Spica leans on the doorframe and shoves a hand through her recently cropped hair. “Yeah, but things would be a lot different if I could be the heir. I mean, if I were a man—”

“You’d only be more insufferable,” Regan says wearily. She’s got a letter to finish. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Owling your half-blood girlfriend or something?”

Spica goes red, which is unusual. It must mean Regan has hit near the mark. “She’s not my—Look, if you’re talking about Moony—”

Regan waves her hand in what she hopes is a go-away gesture. “I don’t care what silly name you call her, she’s still a half-blood and you’re still hung up on her. Although it’s not as bad as when you were hung up on that Potter girl.”

Spica takes a step toward her, looking as though she might throw a punch. It wouldn’t be unheard of. “Jamie’s my best mate. That’s all. Why don’t you keep your mouth shut until you know what you’re talking about?”

Regan doubts that Spica will _ever_ think she’s gotten to that point. “It’s called not agreeing with you,” she says stiffly. She hates arguing, because she’s terrible at it. Spica throws barbs at her that she doesn’t know how to dodge, and all she has to throw in return are etiquette and family honor.

Spica looks at her for a second before snorting derisively and stalking back out of the room, probably to go play her hideous music or stare at her posters of half-naked girls.

4.

“I will _bloody_ kill you!”

Bellarion laughs, dancing back with his wand held in front of him, his shaggy black hair whipping around his face in the high wind. “Try it, you blood-traitor bitch!”

Spica’s wand sparks red in the dark street, illuminating the pigtails she should have long outgrown. “Bitch, am I?” A growl starts low in her throat, and Bell thinks, for a moment, that she’s growing larger, her hair going rough at the edges. Then Spica shakes herself and it’s just a trick of the light. Her wand is still sparking, though. “You can’t handle me,” she snaps.

“Oh,” Bellarion laughs, “You’ve always thought that. And I’ve always handled you, haven’t I?” He considers just ending it here and now, one spell and it would be done, but there’s still that nagging family loyalty that makes him pause.

Spica falters slightly, but then she looks even more furious. “Pathetic,” she snarls. “You’re pathetic. You lot and your bloody Dark Lady. She’s pathetic, too.”

Bellarion stiffens, family loyalty shrinking in the face of an assault on his Mistress. Almost without thinking, he raises his arm and shouts, “Avada—”

But Spica has disapparated.

“Coward,” Bellarion mutters to the empty street.

5.

Regan only goes to see her because she knows she won’t have another chance.

“Spica?”

The door opens another crack, and Spica is standing there, wearing jeans and a t-shirt for once. She’s always either in robes or skirts, Regan thinks absently. “What do you want?” Spica looks more perturbed than actually angry.

“Is this a bad time?” Regan asks, feeling a little sarcastic about it.

“It’s always a bad time for a Death Eater to show up at my door.” Spica’s eyes flash and she looks more like herself again.

Regan came to say goodbye, but she doesn’t think she’ll bother, now. “I wanted to warn you,” she says instead. “I don’t think you should trust your mate Pettigrew.” She doesn’t know anything for certain, but she’s sharp, and she keeps her mouth shut and her ears open. For all the time Bellarion spends following the Dark Lady around and hanging on her every word, Regan thinks she knows her better.

But Spica’s face has gone even more stormy. “I can’t believe you. Pearl wouldn’t . . . Don’t you dare, don’t you _fucking_ dare. Not after everything.”

Regan wonders what it is she’s meant to have done. “You’re so _blind_ ,” she spits. “You always have been, to everything. I didn’t want to leave things like this, Spica, I really didn’t, but you’re not—”

“Don’t come here again,” Spica says shortly, and she slams the door in Regan’s face.


End file.
